


The Anarchy of Anticipation

by PyrrhusLebrun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cancer, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrrhusLebrun/pseuds/PyrrhusLebrun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is sick and won't get better. Louis is trying to nurse him while raising their six year old son who struggles with Harry's cancer. Louis' world is in chaos and he can't control anything. He makes a decision that he can't undo to save his family and his son's childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anarchy of Anticipation

Louis slid into bed next to Harry, facing the wall and curling into himself. Louis knew that his husband was in pain. Chemotherapy was hard enough without constantly trying to hide its side effects from their son. Louis would always try to reassure Harry, let him know it was okay to be weak, but Harry always just fought harder to keep a steady head. Johnny would run to him from the bus stop, bouncing down the street, leaping over puddles, and tackle one of Harry’s legs in joy and excitement. He would clutch Harry’s knee and bury his face in a thigh. It always looked to Louis like Johnny was surprised that Harry was still there. 

They had explained cancer and death to him, but Johnny was too young to really understand. When he clung to his father at the bus stop, he would always say, “Thanks for not leaving today,” as if he thought cancer meant Harry didn’t want to be with him. Despite his love for his son, Harry would have to grimace through every rough embrace. Only at night in bed would Harry verbalize his pain. He would tell Louis about the nausea or how difficult it was to hold in an impending cough attack at Johnny’s kindergarten graduation. Harry’s voice would crack as he talked about Johnny and sometimes he couldn’t get any words out, except “I love you. I’m sorry.” Other nights he would turn away from Louis in bed and cry to himself. Nights like tonight he was too tired and worn out to do anything but sleep. 

Half asleep now, Harry was distant and obviously vulnerable, but Louis enjoyed the intimacy of his warmth beside him. The closeness was comforting and missed. In the silence, it felt to Louis like it had a few years before when they were just married. The memories stung him now, lying next to what used to be an affectionate husband. Louis closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of Harry. In the darkness of his mind, his sense of smell could transport him to the past. Harry’s aroma was thick like syrup, but not as sweet anymore. It gave Louis a feeling of warmth and comfort nonetheless. His desire to get back to the way things had once been led him to sweep his arm around Harry’s frame, pulling Harry’s back up against his chest— the most contact they had had in weeks. Their thighs pressed against each other for a few moments until Harry lifted his leg to allow Louis to entangle them. This tacit acquiescence in Harry’s unconsciousness electrified Louis. He was allowed entry. Louis pressed into Harry’s shorts slowly and repeatedly. He could feel every contour of his husband’s body. He leaned forward and laid his forehead against the arch of Harry’s neck. He kissed his shoulders as if he had the power to heal him. Louis pulled his husband closer into him and continued thrusting, but a choked, gasping moan escaped Harry’s lips at the intensity of the embrace. 

Louis opened his eyes again. He ceased moving, but still held Harry as he coughed. What had made warmth radiate from Louis’s sternum to throat now left him anxious. Shifting back to his side of the bed, Louis left his husband to endure his pain undisturbed. He knew he couldn’t help him and he didn’t want to take on any more pain himself. 

It had been fourteen months since his husband’s diagnosis. In the beginning, everyone thought Harry would beat the cancer in his lungs, but now it had spread almost everywhere inside him. Nobody had any hope. As if he were God, the doctor told Louis that his husband would soon be gone and that he should explain to their son what death was. Before, it had been a courageous battle and Harry was a noble warrior— that’s how friends and family talked about it so they could swallow their fears and stick to their own routines— but now there was no hiding reality in fantasy. Waiting for Harry to die was the hardest thing Louis had ever done. He cherished their every moment, but went to bed at night wishing Harry wouldn’t wake up the next morning for the sake of their son. Watching his dad slowly die-- change from his former boisterous self to a reticent, shriveling stranger-- seemed to Louis worse than Johnny losing him unexpectedly and all at once. The slow descent into physical destitution and torpor destroyed every bond in the family that had been present in health. Johnny witnessed Louis’s withdrawal and Harry’s submission— their unofficial divorce in order to avoid heartbreak and allow for unfeeling nursing. Jovial bickering between them had given way to Louis’s pity and Harry’s frustration. Their comforting touches and thoughtless embraces had devolved into apprehension and fingerprint bruises. Even chance glances between sips of coffee became dreaded reminders of the inescapable. 

Daily life had evolved for Louis. All the old expectations evaporated with Harry’s health. The sicker he got, the more their home changed. The comfort of routine was replaced by jarring fits of coughing, trips to the hospital, and sleepless nights. It was as if cancer had the power to overthrow the laws of domesticity, family, and love. Louis lived in anarchy now. He couldn’t perform his duties as husband— even a touch could be too painful for Harry— nor could he be the father Johnny needed. 

A year ago, Johnny would come home from kindergarten and pout because he had homework. Louis always tried to explain to him that it would only take ten minutes to finish and the sooner he started the sooner he could go outside and play with their neighbor’s kids. But Harry was more successful. He would make a copy of the worksheet and have Johnny teach him how to do it. It became a game of “school” and Johnny loved being in charge. Harry would even do his own book report when Johnny had one because it made his son excited about learning. There were always two sets of Johnny’s homework and after he got a grade, he would get his father’s copy and write the same mark on his. Hanging in the kitchen was Johnny’s book report he had gotten an “A” on— his proudest achievement— and next to it was Harry’s version. Whenever Johnny didn’t want to do his work, Louis or Harry would point the matching reports and suddenly Johnny’s eyes would light up and he would furiously solve his math problems or write his daily journal entry. 

Johnny was different now. Today, he had gotten off the bus crying because his teacher had assigned him an extra worksheet. He hadn’t been getting all of his work done in class lately, acting up and arguing with the teacher. Instead of playing “school,” Louis took away the T.V. remote and refused to give it to Johnny until he did his work. Sitting on the couch, Louis was exhausted from getting Harry to a doctor’s appointment. While Johnny whined in the background, he attempted to read a magazine and ignore the noise. 

This had become the welcomed norm in their home: gentle disconnectedness and peace. It was treasured for its restfulness, but resented for its stiltedness. Nobody talked in this environment. Each member of the family— voluntarily or not— created his own world inside to block out reality. 

Back in bed next to his untouchable husband, Louis felt guilty. He got up and walked to Johnny’s room. The light from the hallway spilled through the doorway as he peeked in at his son, laying awake. Johnny looked up at him, but neither said a word. Louis had forgotten how to be a dad. He was just a nurse and a babysitter.

“It’s past your bedtime. Why are you still awake?” Louis tried to make his voice sound soothing and sympathetic.

“Can’t sleep.” 

“Do you want me to read to you?” 

Johnny shook his head and looked down at the small mountains his feet made under the blanket. “Draw on my back?” He was barely audible. But Louis stepped into the room at sat on the bed. Johnny rolled onto his stomach and buried his cheek in the pillow. “Draw us with Daddy on the beach.” 

Louis remembered their vacation to Cape Cod. They had rented a cottage near the ocean and spent hours every day playing in the sand. Louis decided to draw one of these scenes. He rubbed his palms up and down Johnny’s back— they called it “cleaning the chalkboard.” Then with one finger, he traced the outline of the shore and the figures of the family. Louis had sat in his neon yellow beach chair, low to the ground, with his feet buried in the sand. His baseball cap, pulled over his eyes, blocked the sun and allowed him to retreat into a state of meditative repose: his limps had felt like liquid and his mind was quiet, yet he had remained fully aware of every sound and movement around him. Harry had worn his tight blue swim trunks, of which Johnny had a matching pair. They had settled on their own plot of sand halfway between Louis and the water. Harry was digging trenches around mounds of sand that were supposed to compose a castle, but really ended up looking to Louis more like two pairs of breasts. Johnny was running back and forth at top speed with his red bucket between the castle and the shoreline to get water to fill the new trenches. He would shriek whenever a wave would splash up and wet his face and run away with much more urgency than before. 

Louis stopped tracing for a moment and looked up at the numerous crayon-drawings of the family and matching homework assignments scotch-taped to the walls, all about three feet off the ground. Johnny winced at the sudden halt and then Louis “cleaned the chalkboard,” starting another scene from that vacation. 

He started by drawing the outline of a car, their SUV. They had gone to a drive-in theater and put down all the seats to make a large bed in the trunk. Louis had propped open the back door so that the family could lie and watch the double-feature. After the first film, however, Johnny had fallen asleep between his dads. Instead of leaving early to get Johnny to his warm bed, Harry had reached around to Louis and traced his finger across Louis’s cheek. They looked at each other and at their son and cradled each other until they were all asleep. The sound of starting engines had woken Louis before the others. He brushed his hand through Harry’s hair, who woke up and unconsciously leaned in to kiss Louis. Then Johnny shifted between them and they drove home.

After this memory faded from Louiss mind, he told Johnny he should try to sleep. They were going to church in the morning and both needed to rest. But morning came much too quickly and Louis had barely slept. He cooked breakfast while Johnny got dressed and Harry lazily read the page of the newspaper that Louis had left open on the table.

“Did you hear about this story?” Harry said pointing to the headline Anarchy in Arkansas. Louis hadn’t and shook his head. “Apparently there was a riot outside an abortion clinic. It’s amazing that people can take the law in their own hands like that.”

“It’s like they think they’re carrying the torch of justice or something.” Louis remarked to keep the conversation alive. 

“That’s a very important torch, you know. Someone has to carry it.” Louis appreciated Harry’s attempt at sarcasm, reviving his old humor. Louis gave him a disapproving glance as Johnny came down. 

Soon they were all at church. Johnny fidgeted throughout the service and seemed happy when it was finally over. Before he could run out to the car, Louis steered him towards the priest. He hoped some pious words might help his son through this difficult time. Louis and Harry stood with their hands on Johnny’s shoulder while the priest talked about God, heaven, and death. The priest had grey hair and eyebrows that looked like caterpillars. His cheeks were sunken and sagged slightly below his jaw. Louis could feel Harry tensing up next to him even though he kept a steady face. Johnny began to cry as he looked down at the floor. 

“I want Daddy to stay. Why does God get to take him away?”

“God knows what is best. Sometimes people get confused and can’t understand God’s plan, but it will all be okay.” As the priest talked, beads of saliva collected in the corner of his mouth. The boy didn’t stop crying as the priest continued. His sobs only got louder.

“If God is protecting us, then why does cancer hurt Daddy so much? It doesn’t make sense. You’re not telling the truth. Why do you want to take Daddy away?” His words were now inaudible because he turned away from the priest and buried his wet face in Harry’s thigh. Eventually, they gave up trying to console him and Louis carried him to the car.

Once home again, Johnny ran up to his bedroom and Louis returned to his duties. He started doing laundry while Harry sat at the kitchen table poking at the peanuts in a dish. After putting chicken on the stove for lunch, Louis went downstairs to continue washing the clothes. The buzzer had just gone off, signaling the wash cycle was done. He was emptying a heap of soggy clothes into the dryer when he heard Harry begin coughing. It wasn’t unusual so he just continued his chores. The stairs above him thudded as Johnny came down from his room, probably in search of food. Louis could hear muffled complaints over Harry’s cough. Just when Louis turned on the dryer and it began its roaring hum, there was a crash upstairs. He shuffled back to the kitchen without urgency because the thought of cleaning another mess made the muscles in his back twist. 

In the kitchen, Louis found Johnny standing above a shattered jar of cookies. He shooed him away and got a broom and dustpan. Harry’s cough became violent as Louis swept the broken pieces of glass. Just as he was about to finish, Johnny came back in the room and shouted, “The stove! The stove!” The chicken had caught fire from being neglected so long. Louis jumped up to turn off the flame under the pan, but the fire was already too big. While Louis searched the cabinets for the fire extinguisher, Johnny cried next to Harry, who still uncontrollably coughing.

“Louis, I can’t breathe.” The panic in Harry’s voice frightened his husband. Louis knew Harry would never say anything like that in front of Johnny. While he searched the cabinets for the fire extinguisher, he yelled to Johnny. 

“Call 911! You have to call and tell them Daddy can’t breathe.” 

Louis found the fire extinguisher just as Johnny got to the phone. The flames rose to the matching reports above the stove. By the time Louis gained control of the fire, the reports were completely destroyed. When he was sure there was no more danger, he ran to Harry’s aid. Johnny was already back at his side, too, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Ten minutes later, the paramedics were in the house. They got Harry’s breathing under control and then put him on a gurney and took him to the hospital. Louis followed with Johnny in their car. While they waited for the doctor at the hospital, Louis held Johnny in his lap as he cried softly. Eventually, they both fell asleep.

The doctor woke up Louis a few hours later and told him Harry was fine. It was just another episode like the others that had sent the family to the hospital. They all drove home that night exhausted. Johnny was put to bed and then Louis got into his own bed next to Harry. They lay in silence and didn’t touch beneath the sheets. Harry was quickly asleep, but Louis lay awake. He was past the point of exhaustion. Louis couldn’t sleep though he hadn’t sleep a full night in weeks. His eyes were sore, but the couldn’t keep them closed. His foot restlessly shook and twitched under the blanket. He couldn’t go on like this any longer. Johnny’s voice on the phone calling 911 rang in his ears. He didn’t want to put their son through any more pain. 

He sat up in bed and looked at Harry. His husband breathed in shallow breaths. He had grown thin and pale. He was a stranger. Louis took his pillow and held it in his lap for a few moments, hugging it for the comfort he couldn’t get from Harry. He began to cry as he picked up the pillow in his hands and placed it over Harry’s face. Harry didn’t stir. He was already too sick and too weary, deep in sleep. Soon Harry’s chest stopped rising and the chaos in Louis’s head was over. He got up from the bed and walked down the hall to check on Johnny. He opened the door just enough to peak in. Johnny lay in bed deep in his own sleep, resting peacefully.


End file.
